


Art /Words: A Very Bad Day

by LFB72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Art, Canon Era, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Head Injury, Hurt Merlin, Magical Accidents, Suitable for remix, Traditional Media, Unconsciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 03:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13778481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72
Summary: Merlin wakes up in an odd place at an odd time with no recollection of how he got there. He struggles through the rest of his day but things keep going wrong and even his magic seems to be against him. Everyone seems oblivious to his troubles and progressively worsening state; will they notice his torment before it's too late?





	Art /Words: A Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caldera32](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caldera32/gifts).



> I have added a new piece of art in pastel pencils to the very first piece of fanfiction I ever wrote. I did this way back in 2013 and posted it on fanfiction net. For the sake of completeness I've brought it over here. I also like drawing Merlin Whump and thought it was a good opportunity. Many thanks to Caldera32 for the beta and produced the lovely cover art

 

[ ](https://imgur.com/16DI3fo)

**The Armoury:**

 

He was lying on his back at a very awkward angle - not a position he would have chosen. His face was side-on, hard against the ground, and he became aware of dust and grit in his mouth which he quickly expelled. His head throbbed but Merlin opened his eyes to be assaulted by bright light. He was in the armoury, pieces of metal strewn all over the floor. He searched the room for an assailant but found none, nor was there any sign of a struggle.

Merlin did a body check: all limbs present and correct, nothing seemed bruised or broken. Then he became aware of something wet seeping into his clothes. He reached down tentatively, fearing the worst, and closed his eyes briefly before examining his fingers. Oil. A bit of grease had been his downfall.

On the way to ensuring The Once and Future King's assent to the throne Merlin had defended himself, Arthur, and the kingdom against all manner of threats, vanquishing malevolent magical forces with the bat of an eye. Now Emrys the mighty warlock had been unceremoniously brought to his knees by an oily rag. He shuddered; if only the druids could see their saviour now.

Feeling slightly ashamed, the young servant went about the business of picking himself off the floor and clearing the mess before him. The action of getting up caused his head to pound and his eyes to smart, but no other injuries were discovered. Examining his reflection in Arthur's breastplate provided no evidence that Merlin had been lying unconscious on a stone floor for the best part of an hour. He felt cheated to feel so bad and have nothing to show for it, no war wounds to explain his absence or generate sympathy for his befuddled state.

Merlin reeled off a quick spell so the chores could start doing themselves and suddenly had to duck a flying sword. A flash of gold and the mace that had been making its way towards him halted.

" _What the...?!"_

He tried again and had to cross his arms over his head almost instantly to dodge flying shrapnel. Once more he instinctively stopped the magic. What was going on? This had never happened before...

The language of the old religion was complicated and tricky to pronounce, getting so much as the intonation wrong could change the whole nature of the incantation, but it had always been honey on his tongue. The words had slipped effortlessly from his lips, ready to do his bidding. Not today. Today Camelot's secret sorcerer had effectively vomited his way through several aborted spells and the results had not been pretty. They'd been downright ugly, in fact. Merlin sighed and looked about the room; it was in a worse state than before. He would just have to clean up in his own time - which was limited at best. The servant would have to come up with a reason why his master's guard brace was bent beyond recognition and charred at the end, but he would think of something - he always did.

He released the pressure the heels of his hands had placed on his forehead and untangled his long fingers from his mop of black hair. He had better get started; this could take a while.

 

  **The Physician's Chambers:**

Merlin was late, running from the armoury to his shared chambers where he was supposed to be helping Gaius. The warlock burst through the door and was forced to stop. This was no easy task as the forward momentum of his trunk propelled him over his feet and he only managed to halt his progress by coming onto his toes and windmilling his arms frantically. His body may have ceased to move but it felt like his brain kept going and was being bounced back and forth against his skull.

When his vision refocused Merlin examined the index finger raised inches from his chest, the owner engrossed in his work.

"I've spent all morning preparing this; I need to concentrate. Could you pass me the cedarwood and thyme, please?" Gaius held out his hand expectantly. Not once did he look up from the potion he was brewing.

Merlin went to a cluttered shelf and selected the appropriate vials, handing them silently to his surrogate father.

Merlin watched in horror and fascination as the pale pink liquid morphed into a viscous black homogenous mass and began bubbling uncontrollably. Smoke swirled from its surface and then it erupted like a volcano. Molten projectiles were sent in all directions and created smouldering craters where they landed. Glass jars exploded and little fires sprang into life, igniting anything that had come in contact with the tar-like substance.

Merlin's eyes flared gold and the ebony river solidified, he blinked again and it disappeared along with the fires and broken glass. The warlock let out a sigh, his outstretched hand dropping to his side with a resounding slap. The sound was echoed by Gaius as he emerged from his hiding place behind a table and clipped his ward around the ear with considerable force.

"You stupid boy; what were you thinking?"

"I didn't think-" Merlin's attempt at an explanation was cut short as Gaius stormed

"No, that's the problem; you don't think. Your head is in the clouds, your own thoughts more important! All I asked for was two simple herbs; it's not complicated, it's not difficult. The names were clearly written on the bottles - all you had to do was look!" He flapped his arms in desperation, sighed, and turned his back on the dejected warlock.

"Gaius, I'm sorry." Merlin gazed at the bottles in his hand. How could he have made a mistake like that? He felt foolish, like the idiot he was frequently accused of being.

The old man turned towards his ward. "Perhaps you should go to the training grounds,  Arthur will wonder where you are. I'll clear up the mess here."

He should really stay and clear up, but he did not want to; he wanted the room to open up and swallow him whole. That may actually have happened if the out-of-control potion had run its course. Also, Gaius packed quite a punch for an old healer and the servant did not want to be on the receiving end again, so he nodded in apology and headed for the training grounds.

 

**The Training Grounds:**

The training grounds had been a disaster. Merlin cringed inwardly and shook his head, trying to expunge the memories. All he managed was to create more pain - the images resolutely stayed put.

  
He had arrived late, of course. Arthur had berated him for his tardiness and reminded him he was the worst servant in the kingdom. A verbal spar had ensued. This was something Merlin enjoyed, something he was good at. Usually he was quick with his retorts and insults, but not today. Today words failed him, his exchanges stilted and muddled.

"I always thought you were an idiot, Merlin, and now you've confirmed it," crowed Arthur.

"Prat!" He'd responded, finding no trouble with that one.

Insults usually rolled off his armour like water, but this day they got underneath and soaked into his soul, dampening his heart. What was he without his gift, an empty husk? The jester they all believed him to be?

This was ridiculous. It wasn't the burdens of his destiny that were getting him down, it was the trivial minutiae of the day. They laughed at him, all of them; laughed at him and all his inadequacies.

Gwaine had been the worst, cackling away - Merlin had wanted to wipe the smile off his cocky face. He had conjured a wind to knock the knight over. Well, that was the intent. In actuality the lanky wizard was subjected to a relentless bout of impromptu flatulence. As if that was not sufficient humiliation to add to his already dismal day Gwaine gleefully ribbed the servant about eating too many sprouts, not getting close to naked flames, and worst of all how the lack of a good woman to share his bed was a blessing on this occasion.

The warlock was livid and somehow the jovial knight tripped on a tree root and fell face-first into the dirt, ripping the back seam and crotch of his trousers. Covered in grass stains, the disheveled and green knight had resorted to using his shield to maintain his dignity. He was strangely quiet after that, much to Merlin's relief. His pounding head had been glad of the respite.

 

**The King's Chambers:**

Merlin had been in an odd mood all day - well, half a day. No one had seen him before he'd arrived at the training grounds flustered and unkempt. His brown jacket had been stained with black goo and even looked singed in places. He had been downright irritable, his usual sunny countenance and cheeky swagger absent.

Something was clearly bothering Merlin and Arthur had decided to investigate by engaging in some friendly banter, but it had not gone to plan. The servant's responses had been below par and then there had been some sort of altercation with Gwaine. Merlin had scuttled off before Arthur could talk to him.

The sovereign examined his subject again. Merlin was pale – peaky, even - his shoulders were hunched and he held his head at an awkward angle. The servant was frowning in concentration and the paper in his long fingers trembled.

Arthur was proud of the speech he'd written; Guinevere had only helped a little, a couple of tweaks here and there. He'd given it to Merlin in full expectation of a glowing report, but his servant was taking an age to pass comment. The king sighed and started to drum his fingers on the table.

Merlin wanted the day to be over. He was tired and the headache that had followed him around all afternoon was banging away behind his left eye. He wanted to go to bed, to crawl under the covers and wake up fresh in the morning. He couldn't, of course, because his master had given him a scroll to read and comment on. Usually he could skim these things with ease, offering some subtle changes and suggestions wrapped up in compliments, but today he couldn't concentrate. The letters danced across the page like pretty maidens on the summer solstice, never staying in place long enough to pin down.

"So, what do you think?"

"Erm, it's good. Very good; well done." Merlin made to offer the paper back to the king.

"What are your thoughts on what I said about the Caerleons? Was it too much?"

"I don't think I got that far."

"It was in the third paragraph! What is wrong with you, Merlin? Have you forgotten how to read; spent too much time in the tavern and damaged what little brain you had?"

"Of course I can read! It's just _your_ handwriting - it's terrible, the worst in the kingdom. It looks like a spider took a bath in an inkwell and dried itself on the paper."

"It most certainly is not; nobody's said anything before!"

"Well they wouldn't, would they? You're the king! You're always banging on about not wanting to be treated differently because of who you are, but you don't like it when I tell the truth." Merlin huffed.

 There was a long pause, then Arthur responded.

"It's not the worst. What about Gaius?"

"He's the physician; nobody's expected to read his hand writing."

There was silence.

Merlin sighed, licked his dry lips, and stared at the paper again. He wanted nothing more than to scrunch it into a ball and throw it in the face of his insensitive sovereign. The thought made a smile play at the corner of his lips, but that was not an option. The scowl returned as he reread the first three lines, still making little sense of the text.

Merlin usually excelled in multitasking, but he was so engrossed he did not hear the scrape of metal against the table and the faint whistle as a goblet traveled through the air in a perfect arc. He was oblivious to its journey until its end, smack in the middle of his forehead.

His knees buckled, his torso and head followed, and the servant landed on the floor in an undignified heap, releasing a small grunt as he flopped back onto the hard surface. The only other sound was the jeweled goblet hitting the ground and making ever-decreasing circles, spinning on its axis until it finally came to a stop.

Arthur had watched the scene play out in slow motion. The king had lost count of the times he'd thrown things at his servant but never had he had such a reaction. He'd never wanted to hurt Merlin, merely gain his attention. Now he wasn't attending to anything or anyone, sprawled on the stone floor.

No amount of jostling and name-calling would wake him from his slumber.

 

 

 

<[](https://imgur.com/GoRsEU2)

**The Recovery:**

The room was dark and comforting; the heavy scent of fresh herbs infused the air. He was in his chambers, lying on his bed. This is where he'd wanted to be all day, but he couldn't remember how he'd gotten there.

"Feeling any better?" Gaius's gentle inquiry broke through the warlock's musings.

"What happened?"

"Well, Arthur carried you in here last night after you collapsed in his room. He was quite frantic, saying it was an accident. He swore he had not meant to hit you so hard."

"He hit me?" Merlin instinctively brought a hand to his forehead, feeling raised skin in the shape of a crescent, tender to the touch. Great, he had been branded a citizen of Camelot, forever to roam with a giant 'C' embossed on his face.

"Apparently, but I don't think that's what caused the problem." He leaned in, examining his ward with a raised eyebrow. "Did anything else happen yesterday, Merlin; any other mishaps?"

"I slipped on some oil in the armoury and knocked myself out. I was fine, though. My head hurt a bit, but I didn't have a mark on me; there were no cuts or scrapes – nothing."

"Nothing?"

"… I had trouble concentrating and my words were getting a bit muddled... it was hard to spell and read. Everything kept getting mixed up," supplied the warlock, slightly abashed.

"You did not think to mention it? Merlin, you were suffering from a concussion! You of all people should know you have to be careful after someone hits their head. There was a sizeable bump on the right side of your skull above your ear," explained Gaius. "I've seen knights injured in a similar place lose the ability to speak altogether, and sometimes they could no longer understand what people were saying!"

Merlin swallowed, his mouth having lost all its moisture. "I'm going to be like this permanently?"

Gaius chuckled. "Come now, Merlin; your affliction was relatively insignificant."

_To you, maybe; but it was pretty damn significant to me._

"I've given you a cold compress and some hawthorn; your magic should take care of the rest. I anticipate a full recovery; you just need to recuperate overnight."

The sorcerer's eyes were already half-closed and with this reassurance he gave up the battle to keep them open.

"Sleep well, Merlin. I'll see you in the morning."

*****

He awoke feeling warm and well-rested. Sun filtered through his shutters, illuminating specks of dust and making them sparkle in the bright light. Before the warlock thought about what he was doing, he had whispered in the language of the old religion and the particles rearranged themselves into a majestic dragon that spread its wings and flew toward the window. He blinked, letting the dust go back to its original form.

Merlin smiled, euphoric, but he had to be sure. Fishing in his pocket he pulled out a piece of paper with a list of jobs written on it. He glanced at it and cringed. A couple of the words were misspelled and he had written something about “mucking out houses” and “polishing Arthur”. He turned the parchment over and wrote the most complicated spell he could muster. Perfect. Oh yes, he was back. He said the words that would erase both sides of the paper - couldn't have anyone finding either piece of that incriminating evidence.

He felt great. Camelot and her inhabitants were safe once more, their secret sorcerer fighting fit and ready for action. Merlin swung his feet over the edge of the bed with vigour, his right foot landing in the recently-used chamber pot. He brought his knee up in a reflex action hitting his chin and unbalancing himself, a movement that caused him to fall backward and off the bed with a crash.

The door to his chambers flew open and Gaius observed the scene.

"You're up then. Sleep well?"

"Never better! Everything's back to normal."

"So I see." Gaius raised an eyebrow. "I'll leave you to get dressed; don't be late for Arthur."

Some things don't change - he had always been clumsy. No one was perfect, but very occasionally he felt pretty damn close. The thought brought a crooked smile to his face. Today was going to be a good day and he wanted to get on with it.

THE END

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking a look, this was in response to characters in Merlin constantly being bludgeoned over the head then waking up with no ill effects what so ever (other than letting the bad guy escape or failing to witness Merlin's warlock ways).  
> As I said, it was the first thing I'd ever wrote but in doing so I continued to write and draw for this wonderful fandom.


End file.
